A Painful Occurrence
by kaylabasically
Summary: Shot? No. But as her hand traveled down her jean covered thighs there's blood. Lots and lots of blood. / pre-finale. one-shot.


**A/N: **This is my first time posting anything on FF so be gentle. Im sensitive about my writing. I have commitment issues which explains why this is a one-shot. If, however, an idea pops up in my head to continue on then I shall. No beta used so mistakes are mine. Reviews would be lovely. As always, I do not own any of these characters. Though, if Marlowe wanted to adopt me I guess i'd have a share. No?

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"Drop you weapon!" Beckett blared out. It wasn't but two seconds later that her hands were attached to her own firearm pointing directly at the gun pointed at her. She could see the shadow in front of her internally battling with himself to figure out his next move. Notably, and somehow visually, seeing his every thought process as he roamed back and forth mumbling about something inaudible to Beckett's ear, but all in all still pointing the gun at her.

Despite the generous space dividing the two Beckett hated this position. She hated the thought of a gun pointed at her, aiming at her, threatening her life. She was prepared for this, yes, but that didn't make the situation any less underwhelming. And it certainly didn't mean she had to like it.

"Beckett!" Footsteps roared through the city ground, coming to a halt just inches away from her. Castle had a way with perfect timing, except this probably wasn't the most amazing time to show up. You know, not while a gun is pointed at your partner's head and your voice is still pitched with desperation for air. She knew he wasn't that active. This wasn't the first time she had to run down a suspect with Castle lacking the speed to keep up. But the least he could do was show up at a reasonable time. She's been standing in this position, arms up and aiming, feet slightly apart, for two minutes. The suspect _or killer – the amount of running he was doing he might as well killed someone _– looked unfazed by the entire situation. Did he miss the part where he had a gun pointed at him, too?

The quick glance Beckett casted to Castle was enough to motivate the suspect to put his plan into play. He ran. They _always_ run.

Beckett groaned, rolling her eyes in the process, while hooking her gun back on her belt before her feet took off running. She didn't bother to look back when she yelled, "Castle, call for back up!" The suspect had a couple feet on her, but she didn't doubt her ability to catch up.

After already feeling like she ran a marathon she was back at it again. Letting her feet drag beyond the streets: turning corners, passing buildings, and jumping over thrown down trashcans (gosh, she hasn't jumped over hurdles since high school). It was mostly a physical effort. Not much common thought into chasing down a potential psycho killer down unfamiliar streets. Wait; were they headed to an alley now? Yeah. All physical.

The sudden cramp in her stomach resurfaced with every step she took, her caves ached (probably from the boots she chose to wear today. Maybe five inches was a bit much?), and by now her lungs sucked at being lungs.

Beckett kept running. Despite all the odds, which were easily proven to be against her. She was so close to closing this case. All of her leads lead to this guy here. The one she was tailing as if he was bait.

He was bait. Now all she had to do was reel him in.

Officially, and finally, cornered, Beckett has the suspect stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or in the literal sense, the faded red brick wall and her firearm. She had no idea when her reflexes thought to get control of her 9mm automatic, but it was in her hand and their stance mimicked the same position (this was getting old fast) they held before Castle interrupted them.

Castle. Where was he? And where the hell was that back up?

"There's nowhere else to go, Raymond," Her warning sounded demanding (boosted her confidence even), but her eyes pleaded with him to cooperate. Her chest heaved in and out, gaining control of her lack of oxygen with every breath. Her stomach, like contractions, cramped and ached immensely. Something wasn't right. But she didn't have time to tend to her needs. No. She had to put a killer behind bars. The same killer who had his gun pointed at her and didn't look the least bit afraid to use it. That feels comforting. Just thinking about the paperwork she has to fill out if she pulls the trigger first made her groan. _Just cooperate._

Now would be an amazingly good time for back up to appear.

Raymond smirked. Even with the 7pm sun fading she could see that evil grin in pitch black. Now she'd probably even see it in her sleep. Great.

"You know you really shouldn't travel alone." His head tilted a little, studying her body, and thinking of the perfect spot to dispose of the bullet. If there wasn't a gun involved she'd think he was checking her out. But no, there was a gun involved, and an index finger itching to pull the trigger.

She wasn't traveling alone after all. Her partner was just useless at this point. Which oddly enough made Beckett a little relieved. She didn't need Castle in the middle of this. Doing his share of protecting her, selfishly forgetting about himself. Despite their fallen out after the one-shot-of-tequila-too-many sex and the fact that they _never_ talked about it (except for that one time). She still cared about him. And maybe the drunken sex was also something she cared about - imprinted in her memory, even.

Raymond continued, "I'll tell you what," rolling his tongue over his molars, gathering a massive amount of spit before shooting it out onto the ground. Yup. There goes that cramping feeling again. She wanted to be weak at this point. Surrender any and everything just for this pain to go away. Whatever pain _this_ was. "I'll let you pick where you want the bullet."… Thanks?

Her cramped arms still pointed at him, the fingernail on her index finger made tapping noises against the metal of the trigger, and … why hadn't she shot him already?

Maybe he could shoot her in the stomach? Relieve her of the on again off again pain. Or maybe the – wait! Why was she even considering the possibility?

"I was thinking the head. I kind of have a thing for brain matter." He gritted, "But you have a nice face. Cute girl, really. It's such a shame" She could hear the laughter oozing out of his voice. This was all a joke to him. He knew he was going to shoot her and he knew where.

"You don't have to do this, Raymond." Her pleads were less demanding now. The less base her tone held the more real the pleads got. She wanted to gain just an ounce of control. Should she step forward? Prove to Raymond she wasn't scared? She was scared. But both of them dead wouldn't solve anything. She remained in her spot.

"Oh but I do Detective … Beckett is it? You see I killed Percy. But you knew that didn't you?" It wasn't a question but more so and acknowledgment. She did know he murdered his own cousin. And if he was ruthless enough to shot and kill his own cousin, in his own house, than she didn't think twice about her receiving a bullet of her own. "Now I have to kill you." He shrugged nonchalant.

She wanted to tell him that killing her wouldn't solve anything. He'd only make matters worse, because then, if he killed a well-respected New York detective there would be so many cops gunning for him that he'd wish he were dead. Either way he was trapped between two options: getting shot (and potentially killed) or going to jail.

She exhaled; gapping to say something_, anything_, but nothing came out.

Was she in shock? Was the vision of a gun pointed at her so overwhelming that it shunned her speechless? As a cop she always figured she'd take a bullet. Even without the bulletproof vest, her turtleneck and leather jacket the only thing protecting her from the clean fall weather; the bullet was the least of her worries. No. Her worries consisted solely on the pain in her stomach and –

"NYPD!" Esposito?

The range of gunshots so close to her ears made her go numb. Her ears rang irritably. 1 shot, 2 shot, … 3? The pain now unbearable Beckett crunched down, bending at her hip as she clinched on to the leather material trying to relieve herself of the painful 'in and out' feeling clamping in her abdomen.

She wasn't shot – no, but she was surely in pain. Lots and lots of pain.

"Beckett!" Esposito called out, running over to her side as soon as Raymond's body tumbled down.

She waved him off, pointing to the very alive suspect (or killer it was safe to say). He groaned from the pain of the two gunshots plastered in his body: one glazing over his right arm and the other so deep in his thigh you could see fibrous tissues. The sight alone made her want to vomit. And she probably would have if she weren't already in enough pain. Too much pain to contract and release her lunch.

"Just get Raymond." She panted in between exhales. Esposito hesitantly did as he was told, feeling a flush of relief (and now adding a bit more pep in his step) as he noted more people arriving to the scene.

"Kate!" She knew that voice anywhere. She heard the concern undertone so many times. First name usage. He was definitely concern. The same concern he had in his voice after she blew him off for a few days after admitting, falsely, that it wasn't suppose to happen.

It wasn't supposed to happen. At least, not like that.

The casual sex. Accidental drunken sex. The lovemaking? Whatever it was Beckett disposed of it verbally, but not emotionally – definitely not emotionally.

She still remembers the way he touched her. It was tender and slow like he was trying to savor the moment. He catered to all of Kate that night. He worked her, groped her, and loved her like she should have been years ago. They laughed together, genuinely laughed together. It was everything and verbally _nothing_ at the same time.

She convinced herself the next day it wasn't right. He was her partner, thought technically he wasn't. But still, he was her partner.

She wanted to respond to her name being called. She wanted to tell him that she was okay. But with her mouth ajar a muffed groan stuck in her throat- she couldn't.

Her hand clinched her stomach again as another wave of cramps hit. Then, the pain subsided for a bit. Her hand gripping onto the hand Castle extended to her seconds ago. Maybe she could attempt to stand up straight this time. Maybe it was over.

Or maybe not.

She bit down on her bottom lip forcefully, drawing a hint of blood in her mouth (at least she knows she's still alive). Her hand gripped tightly around Castle's, squeezing tighter than he could probably handle. But he was unfazed and still notably concerned.

Left hand still clinched to her stomach. "Kate have… have you been shot?" Castle panicked, inspecting her for a bullet womb.

Shot? No. But as her hand traveled down her jean covered thighs there was blood. Lots and lots of blood. She closed her eyes tightly, dropping both hands to her knees as she collected herself as best she could, inhaling and exhaling. How could she not have known? The signs were all there- **all** of them, all along. And then the cramping and now the blood. How could she have been so stupid?

"Kate!" Castle was trying to get her attention break her out of her sudden trance. He had his arms wrapped around her waist as he yelled for an EMT. "I think she's been shot!" his voice powered over her.

She exhales, gains enough courage to jab her elbow into his stomach to push him away. "I haven't been shot, Castle."

And now she's sure of it. Now that she knows what's wrong, exactly what just happened in a matter of twenty minutes, the last thing she wants to do is be in the same space as Castle. The questions, his pleading eyes filled with pain…Apology? Sympathy? She didn't want it.

"But you're-" He couldn't for the life of him figure out why she was pushing him away. Was she mad it took him forever to get to her? Calling for back up didn't go as smoothly as he would have liked. Despite watching Beckett toy around with the crown vic intercom the buttons all looked the same to him. Maybe he should have ran with her and called for back up on his cellphone. But where was his cellphone?

She stood up. Her eyes gleaming; reflecting a hint of water over her cornea. Tears? "I'm not shot, Castle" she repeats. Her eyes stood their ground against his. They were laced with pain, he could tell. She had to have been shot. The pain in her eyes? She had to have been shot. "I'm having a miscarriage."


End file.
